"Easy. Easy," the man said authoritatively.
"Can't see," Petro said, or tried to say in a rasping croak.
"Just a moment," the man said. He felt his head lifted up by a strong hand lifting him up. There was a strange sensation, as the bandage was unwound from around his face. Light stabbed at first one eye, then the other. The man... the one from the wreck, who'd approached him as he'd crawled out of his car, stared back at him. Middle-aged, sandy-haired, and possessed of oversized jug ears, he wasn't the most pleasant of images to awaken to.
The man made a clucking sound. "That's going to leave a nasty scar. Sorry, I knew how to do it, but you were the first person I'd ever stitched up."
His eyes quickly adjusted to the room's dim light after the initial shock. The shadows danced from the kerosene lamp in the corner.
"Drink," he asked. The man nodded and pulled a bottle of water from beside the bed, twisting the cap off and gently pouring a little into his mouth.
"This isn't a hospital," Petro said.
The man nodded "Perceptive one, aren't you?"
"Been in a few patch-shacks in my time," He could feel the stitches on his face, one didn't forget that particular sensation, skin pulled tight by string. "What's going on?"
"You've been unconscious for two days," the man said. "Zimmerman, by the way. Frank Zimmerman."
"Pleased to meet you, blah blah. Okay, so why not a hospital?"
"There's not a safe one left."
"Terrorists?" Petro asked, the comment barely even a question. But what the hell was up with that scene with the helicopters? He remembered that.
"It's... a good thing you're laying down right now. Because you're not going to take this well."
=============================
He crouched at the window, looking outside.
Zombies. No shit, for-real, dead come to life, rotting, groaning, brain-eating zombies.
"Those," he whispered. "Are zombies."
"Yes they are," Zimmerman said with the air of a man dealing with a particularly slow child.
Petro slid away from the window, then lit a cigarette.
"There are zombies out there," he said. He was half-expecting Zimmerman to reveal the joke. Instead, the older man spat on the floor.
"I watched you go for your emergency kit in your trunk," he said. "Which is why I hauled your carcass to a hideout in the first place. Now, either accept it, or get the hell out of my house."
"You saved me because I went for my kit?"
"Presence of mind. Good instincts. Of course, you then stood there and caught a piece of shrapnel with your forehead, but nobody's perfect."
Petro started to take a drag on his cigarette, then noticed how badly his hand was shaking. He glared at it, forcing it to behave.
"Okay, it's real. There are motherfucking zombies on the streets, and they kill people."
"Yes."
"So we have to do something about it."
Zimmerman scowled. "We have to survive. 'Dealing with it' is an issue for the properly constituted authorities."
"In case you missed it, I'm technically one of those 'properly constituted authorities'." Petro rubbed his throbbing head. Post-concussion syndrome, Zimmerman had said. He'd figured- concussions were another one of the occupational hazards of his hell-raising youth.
"And what are firemen supposed to do in the case of a zombie uprising?" Zimmerman said sarcastically.
"Same as any other time- we save people," Petro levered himself to his feet, carefully staying out of sight of the window. "You want to stay hid out, feel free. This isn't your job."
The other man looked at him for a long moment. Finally he shrugged. "Safety in numbers," he said. A pragmatic man, Zimmerman.
Urban Dead: United We Stand
Moderator: B4UTRUST
-
Ace Pace
- Antisemetical Semite
- Posts: 2272
- Joined: Wed Jun 08, 2005 10:28 am
- 21
- Location: Cuddling with stress pills
- Contact:
#27
Ace returned to the world of the awake with a thump as he fell out of the chair.
"Whuzza?"
On the floor, slowly reclaiming parts of his brain from the realm of sleep....
"Who? Where? what? Bruce? Heart? Saw?" Ace was speaking out of habit into his recorder.
When his brain finnaly peiced together the events of the past few hours, Ace was standing, drinking water from a machine. The sudden understanding that the quiet surrounding him wasn't only being in isolation but being isolated in a dead hospital dropped him like a sack of rotten apples.
Slowly crawling to a triple buffered window, Ace looked upon a parking lot overrun with crawling bodies. "No." Denial, his mind told him. It can't be, answered the heart. You see it with your eyes, you hear it with your ears, you're in isolation, admit it, you, Ace, Head of Surgery of this general hospital, are stuck in Hell.
Ace crawled back to his desk and wept.
"Whuzza?"
On the floor, slowly reclaiming parts of his brain from the realm of sleep....
"Who? Where? what? Bruce? Heart? Saw?" Ace was speaking out of habit into his recorder.
When his brain finnaly peiced together the events of the past few hours, Ace was standing, drinking water from a machine. The sudden understanding that the quiet surrounding him wasn't only being in isolation but being isolated in a dead hospital dropped him like a sack of rotten apples.
Slowly crawling to a triple buffered window, Ace looked upon a parking lot overrun with crawling bodies. "No." Denial, his mind told him. It can't be, answered the heart. You see it with your eyes, you hear it with your ears, you're in isolation, admit it, you, Ace, Head of Surgery of this general hospital, are stuck in Hell.
Ace crawled back to his desk and wept.
[img=left]http://www.libriumarcana.com/Uploads/Ace/acewip7.jpg[/img]Grand Dolphin Conspiracy
The twin cub, the Cyborg dolphin wolf.
Dorsk 81: this is why I support the separation of Aces eyebrow's, something that ugly should never be joined
Mayabird:You see what this place does to us? It's like how Eskimos have their 16 names for snow. We have to precisely define what shafting we're receiving.
"Do we think Israel would be nuts enough to go back into Lebanon with Olmert still in power and calling the shots? They could hook Sharon up to a heart monitor and interpret the blips and bleeps as "yes" and "no" and do better than that, both strategically and emotionally."
The twin cub, the Cyborg dolphin wolf.
Dorsk 81: this is why I support the separation of Aces eyebrow's, something that ugly should never be joined
Mayabird:You see what this place does to us? It's like how Eskimos have their 16 names for snow. We have to precisely define what shafting we're receiving.
"Do we think Israel would be nuts enough to go back into Lebanon with Olmert still in power and calling the shots? They could hook Sharon up to a heart monitor and interpret the blips and bleeps as "yes" and "no" and do better than that, both strategically and emotionally."
-
Pcm979
- Adept
- Posts: 1306
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 5:22 am
- 21
- Location: Command Deck, the UMSC Pillar of Awesome.
#28
Mike approached the Zombie carefully. Over the last few days he'd noticed that they appeared to require some downtime, for lack of a better word, after a period of activity. They simply stood there, swaying slightly.
It hadn't noticed him. He pulled out his D.N.A. extractor- He'd kept the damn thing, and the labcoat for reasons he knew not- And quickly jabbed it into the monster, waiting a few seconds until the results came through.
Oh, crap. He'd been right.
The thing was filled with NecroTech's formula.
The zombie suddenly growled and surged to life, lashing out at him with its unnatural talons.
Mike darted back with a yelp, almost falling over. He turned, skidding a bit on the cobblestones, and ran for the nearest shop, idly noting that he was getting fitter already.
The zombie lurched after him slowly. By itself he could have easily escaped it, but another rounded the corner, lurching toward him.
He skidded again almost comically, and looked around frantically. Shit, no way out.
Mike tried to run past the second Zombie. Freedom was so close!
The zombie swiped at him clumsily, not finding flesh. However, its talons hooked in his lab coat, catching in the fabric.
Mike was yanked off his feet by the recoil, crashing to the ground painfully as he instinctively and somewhat foolishly sheltered the Extractor rather than his own body.
"GRAAGH!" the zombie screamed articulately, as it leaned down to bite him. Zombie drool leaked from its mouth, splattering against his face.
"Aaaaargh!" Replied Mike, and kicked at the thing's legs, pushing himself away at the same time as bringing it down.
He succeeded in pushing himself into the other zombie's legs. It overbalanced comically and tumbled over him.
He flailed frantically, beating at the Zombie and wriggling out from under it. He shoved the Extractor into his belt and looked up, spying a storm drain attached to the building. He reached out and grabbed, it, flailing for purchase.
Both zombies lurched to their feet and came after him with ominous growls.
"Shitshitshitshit." He gasped, hauling himself painfully upwards by the tips of his fingers. His feet scrabbled for a crevace in the brickwork, something to give him leverage.
And that was when one of the zombies snarled and grabbed his leg, talons sinking into the flesh of his thigh.
Mike yelled wordlessly, feeling his fingers slip. He kicked at the Zombie with his other leg, trying to dislodge it. Idiot! Part of him bellowed. They don't feel pain!
But bones could break, and his kick shattered the forearm of his attacker, causing its grip to relax.
Mike groaned with relief as the pressure eased in his leg. He tried to work the thing's talons free, kicking upwards with his other foot.
The talons came out, dragging down his leg, flesh parting as they went.
"Jesus!" Mike barked, and started hauling himself up again, one leg useless for climbing purposes.
The other zombie grabbed his shoe, tugging at it. It held for a moment, then tore away from his foot...
Mike yelled again as he was dragged back down again, arms burning and fingers starting to tear open on the gutter. Two steps forward and one step back, except he wouldn't have any legs left by the end...
The zombie seized his useless ankle, tugging mightily.
Red clouded Mike's vision, and he mindlessly stamped on the thing's head with his still-working foot as pain shot up his leg.
Something gave in the zombie's neck, and it reeled back, thudding into the other one. He had a small window of opportunity... if he had the strength to take it.
Screaming from the pain and effort, Mike hauled his torso above the gutter and scrambled for purchase on the tiles. His hands, slick with blood from his fingers, slipped over them and he frantically swung his legs upwards.
The zombies growled and howled at him from down below.
"Fuck you!" He panted, feeling his fingers and leg start to cramp. He had to act quickly, and he slithered further up the roof, crying out again as he levered himself over the final barrier and onto the roof balcony.
The zombies seemed remarkably unmoved by the depth of his venom, focusing more on their desire for his plump brain.
Mike assessed himself quickly; the pain hadn't really set in yet, so he had some time to get his shit in order before then. He pulled his tie from his neck and knotted it around his leg as a makeshift tourniquet, grunting with pain as he pulled it tight.
He could hear the bashing downstairs as the zombies battered their way into the store.
Shit. He tried to stand up, but his leg instantly buckled and turfed him back to the ground again. He crawled laboriously towards the other end of the roof, every dragging half-step sending needles of agony shooting up his leg.
There was no more bashing sounds at the door. They were obviously inside.
Then the first wave of adrenaline wore off, and Mike screamed, involuntarily curling into a fetal position as the pain overwhelmed him.
Encouraged by the sounds of meat, the zombies shuffled up the stairs. Wounded prey would not escape them.
Wounded prey would do it's best, though. The sight of the Zombies appearing on the roof sent a new wave of adrenaline rushing through Mike's system, and he scooted backwards with his remaining functioning limbs, reaching frantically for the rim of the roof behind him.
They shuffled forward slowly. Under other circumstances, it would be a simple matter to evade them, but now... not so easy.
His questing fingers found the roof balcony's rim, and he dragged himself towards it, flipping over and grabbing it with his other hand.
One of the zombies made an awkward, shuffling leap and landed next to him on the balcony.
Mike was past making any yips of surprise or fear now, simply quick, ragged breaths as he hauled himself over the balcony and onto the sloping tiles leading down to the other side of the building, and freedom.
The zombie grabbed out for his good leg, latching onto it and getting yanked along with him.
There was a brief battle between gravity, Mike's flesh and the Zombie's talons, and Mike's flesh lost. With a horrible tearing sound, deep furrows opened in the flesh of his calf as he was torn free of the Zombie, smashing into the corresponding storm gutter. He grabbed the gutter and lowered himself as far as he could manage, then let go and flopped the last few feet to the ground.
The zombie snarled and leaped after him, landing in an entirely ungraceful fashion that shattered its leg. It howled and grasped for him, just... out... of reach.
Well, that made them even. Somehow, Mike managed to get onto his hands and knees and crawl away laboriously and painfully.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
FM was busy looting the Pub and the surrounding area. The barman's shotgun would come in handy, assuming he could find some fucking shells.
Then Mike staggered through the doorway, somehow upright. He leaned heavily on a table, and managed a pain-filled laugh. "Now, dad." He stuttered, imitating the dreaded call-home, "I'm not sayin' I wrecked the car, but I need a lift home."
"What the fuck?" he said, putting the shotgun down on the bar. "You said you weren't going to get in fucking trouble, you dumb shit."
"Yelling later, first aid kit now." Groaned Mike, flopping into a chair.
He grabbed Mike's shirt and bodily hoisted him onto the table, pulling another one over to support his legs. "You're bleeding like a stuck fucking hog," he said, pulling out his knife.
"Yeah, probably some muscle damage too." He said dreamily. "The left leg's worse, I torniqued' the right one."
He was already running the knife up the pants leg, cutting it away. "I'm not a doctor," he pointed out.
"Physician, heal thyself." Mike replied. "I fucked up in the first place." He looked very pale, eyes dilated but still clear as he forced himself into a sitting position. "First aid kit." He repeated.
He grabbed the kit, pulling it open. "Okay, got it."
"White tube" pronounced t-you-b, "left partition. Antiseptic gel." Mike instructed, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself in the present.
He grabbed the tube, popping the top and slathering a handful onto his hand. "This is going to hurt like fuck," he said, grabbing a dirty rag from another table. "Bite on this."
Mike bit down on the rag, and focused on trying to discern what it was he was tasting. Anything to take his mind off the pain.
Soap and bartop grime mixed in a merry cocktail in his mouth as FM roughly slathered the antibacterial goop on his leg in a fashion that indeed hurt like fuck.
Mike bit right through the rag and indeed his tongue, the soap and grime joined by blood as a small 'fsssssssssssss', like gas under pressure, escaped his mouth. Jesus FUCK that hurt.
"Sorry," he said unapologetically as he finished. "Now what? Stitch it up?"
"Thought I'd take a holiday." Mike replied, spitting the rag out and fumbling for the tools. "Not just Brighton or Milton Keynes, either." He threaded the needle. "Somewhere like BermudaAAAargh." His babble devolved into a muffled yell as he passed the needle through the cuts.
The rag was roughly shoved back into his mouth. "This is going to be ugly," FM informed him.
Mike looked at him as if to say "Oh really? I never would have guessed." And proceeded to stitch himself up.
FM watched, somewhat impressed with the ballsiness of a man stitching up his own wounds.
Well, needs must, right? The pain was incredible. Mike had broken his leg once, but that was Nothing compared to the sensations he was now experiencing. Each stroke was made one thousand times worse with the knowledge that he was doing it, the precise information relayed from his brain to his legs as to when the needle was going to strike. He bit through the rag again and ground his teeth together, anything to keep his mind. Off. The. Pain!
Finally, he found that he'd finished. He spat the rag out again and collapsed sideways, rocking the table.
FM lifted his head, holding a bottle of scotch. "Here, get a drink."
Mike grabbed the bottle and inhaled greedily, most of the liquid going down his throat. The rest ran down his chin and the bottle, seeming to burst into flames as it hit the cuts on his hands.
"Ouch." He said finally.
FM noticed the abrasions on his hand. "Let me get those," he said, grabbing the antibacterial goop and slathering some more on his hands.
Mike let the man work, and eventually fetched the gauze from the FAK and bound his legs tightly, looping a bit under each ankle for support. He started to shake.
"Thanks." He said. "You can, ah, you can start the name-calling now." He flopped back down to the table.
He tossed a blanket over the other man, shaking his head. "So what happened, you stupid fuck?"
"I cut myself shaving, of course." Mike shot back. "Those safety blades aren't all they're cracked up to be. What does it look like? I got my ass kicked all over the city."
"How does the other guy look?" he asked, finishing off the scotch that Mike hadn't gulped down.
"Broken arm and leg." Mike said, vaguely proud. "A bit of a skin condition, too. Green and flakey."
"Good job," he said. "Next time try not to get fucking chopped up when you do it. You're the doctor."
"I wasn't looking for a fight." Mike said defensively. "He wouldn't have gotten me if I wasn't distracted."
"So don't get distracted," he said coldly. "You don't get a lot of second chances with this shit."
Mike laughed suddenly, and slightly hysterically. "Actually, that's what distracted me." He reached for his waist and unclipped the Extractor, shakily handing it to the man. "Do those figures mean anything to you? They mean a lot to me."
He shrugged. "No."
"Well, I know what's happening now. Vaguely." He retrieved the device and attached it to his belt again, the hysterical giggles starting once more. "And it turns out- You'll love this- It turns out that it's kinda my fault." He shook with silent laughter.
"How?" the other man asked, suddenly very intent.
"Well, not me specifically. The people I work for." Mike explained, haltingly and interspersed with bouts of hysteria, about the 'miracle cure', the Zombies, and the test results.
"It's like a B-movie." He giggled. "We tried to play God, etcetera, etcetera."
FM smacked him upside the head. "Get your shit together."
Mike rolled onto his side with the blow, and cupped his hands around his mouth until he stopped hyperventilating.
FM waited him out. "Better now?"
He nodded, glasses tumbling from his face. "Better."
"Good," was his simple reply. "So what are we dealing with here?"
Mike shrugged. "I can only guess. This isn't the same strain we were using in the labs. But I'd say we're all passively infected, probably by the water supply." He seemed to calm down as he let the analytical side of his mind take over. "We were aiming to treat major tissue damage, though, so I don't know what it'd take to put one of these things down. Probably incineration."
"Burn the bodies, they stay down," he said, boiling it down to simple, functional terms.
"Not just burn; Cremate." Mike corrected. "Acid might work too. I don't know if a limb would grow back or something, but I think so. We were aiming to treat some really nasty stuff."
"You mean we have to totally destroy the body? What the fuck were you people thinking?"
"'We' got drunk one night and thought, "Hey, why don't we make a Zombie plague?" I told you, 'we' wanted to cure death. Grow limbs back. Repair broken spines. A nice little slide-back sunroof. The whole works."
"And you let it get into the water supply," he shot back accusingly.
"Yeah, I emptied a little bag of it down the loo last week. Jesus, I'm just a freaking night shift worker." Mike snarled, obviously feeling that hit a little too close to home.
He didn't answer, going over to collect the shotgun and finish loading it.
Mike's head thudded back against the table. The blood loss and shock were catching up to him.
He racked the shotgun, loading it, then flicked the safety on. "So, what are you gonna do about it?"
Mike exhaled slowly. "Get more data. More facts. Get in touch with someone who knows what they're doing. Tell them."
"Okay," he said simply.
It hadn't noticed him. He pulled out his D.N.A. extractor- He'd kept the damn thing, and the labcoat for reasons he knew not- And quickly jabbed it into the monster, waiting a few seconds until the results came through.
Oh, crap. He'd been right.
The thing was filled with NecroTech's formula.
The zombie suddenly growled and surged to life, lashing out at him with its unnatural talons.
Mike darted back with a yelp, almost falling over. He turned, skidding a bit on the cobblestones, and ran for the nearest shop, idly noting that he was getting fitter already.
The zombie lurched after him slowly. By itself he could have easily escaped it, but another rounded the corner, lurching toward him.
He skidded again almost comically, and looked around frantically. Shit, no way out.
Mike tried to run past the second Zombie. Freedom was so close!
The zombie swiped at him clumsily, not finding flesh. However, its talons hooked in his lab coat, catching in the fabric.
Mike was yanked off his feet by the recoil, crashing to the ground painfully as he instinctively and somewhat foolishly sheltered the Extractor rather than his own body.
"GRAAGH!" the zombie screamed articulately, as it leaned down to bite him. Zombie drool leaked from its mouth, splattering against his face.
"Aaaaargh!" Replied Mike, and kicked at the thing's legs, pushing himself away at the same time as bringing it down.
He succeeded in pushing himself into the other zombie's legs. It overbalanced comically and tumbled over him.
He flailed frantically, beating at the Zombie and wriggling out from under it. He shoved the Extractor into his belt and looked up, spying a storm drain attached to the building. He reached out and grabbed, it, flailing for purchase.
Both zombies lurched to their feet and came after him with ominous growls.
"Shitshitshitshit." He gasped, hauling himself painfully upwards by the tips of his fingers. His feet scrabbled for a crevace in the brickwork, something to give him leverage.
And that was when one of the zombies snarled and grabbed his leg, talons sinking into the flesh of his thigh.
Mike yelled wordlessly, feeling his fingers slip. He kicked at the Zombie with his other leg, trying to dislodge it. Idiot! Part of him bellowed. They don't feel pain!
But bones could break, and his kick shattered the forearm of his attacker, causing its grip to relax.
Mike groaned with relief as the pressure eased in his leg. He tried to work the thing's talons free, kicking upwards with his other foot.
The talons came out, dragging down his leg, flesh parting as they went.
"Jesus!" Mike barked, and started hauling himself up again, one leg useless for climbing purposes.
The other zombie grabbed his shoe, tugging at it. It held for a moment, then tore away from his foot...
Mike yelled again as he was dragged back down again, arms burning and fingers starting to tear open on the gutter. Two steps forward and one step back, except he wouldn't have any legs left by the end...
The zombie seized his useless ankle, tugging mightily.
Red clouded Mike's vision, and he mindlessly stamped on the thing's head with his still-working foot as pain shot up his leg.
Something gave in the zombie's neck, and it reeled back, thudding into the other one. He had a small window of opportunity... if he had the strength to take it.
Screaming from the pain and effort, Mike hauled his torso above the gutter and scrambled for purchase on the tiles. His hands, slick with blood from his fingers, slipped over them and he frantically swung his legs upwards.
The zombies growled and howled at him from down below.
"Fuck you!" He panted, feeling his fingers and leg start to cramp. He had to act quickly, and he slithered further up the roof, crying out again as he levered himself over the final barrier and onto the roof balcony.
The zombies seemed remarkably unmoved by the depth of his venom, focusing more on their desire for his plump brain.
Mike assessed himself quickly; the pain hadn't really set in yet, so he had some time to get his shit in order before then. He pulled his tie from his neck and knotted it around his leg as a makeshift tourniquet, grunting with pain as he pulled it tight.
He could hear the bashing downstairs as the zombies battered their way into the store.
Shit. He tried to stand up, but his leg instantly buckled and turfed him back to the ground again. He crawled laboriously towards the other end of the roof, every dragging half-step sending needles of agony shooting up his leg.
There was no more bashing sounds at the door. They were obviously inside.
Then the first wave of adrenaline wore off, and Mike screamed, involuntarily curling into a fetal position as the pain overwhelmed him.
Encouraged by the sounds of meat, the zombies shuffled up the stairs. Wounded prey would not escape them.
Wounded prey would do it's best, though. The sight of the Zombies appearing on the roof sent a new wave of adrenaline rushing through Mike's system, and he scooted backwards with his remaining functioning limbs, reaching frantically for the rim of the roof behind him.
They shuffled forward slowly. Under other circumstances, it would be a simple matter to evade them, but now... not so easy.
His questing fingers found the roof balcony's rim, and he dragged himself towards it, flipping over and grabbing it with his other hand.
One of the zombies made an awkward, shuffling leap and landed next to him on the balcony.
Mike was past making any yips of surprise or fear now, simply quick, ragged breaths as he hauled himself over the balcony and onto the sloping tiles leading down to the other side of the building, and freedom.
The zombie grabbed out for his good leg, latching onto it and getting yanked along with him.
There was a brief battle between gravity, Mike's flesh and the Zombie's talons, and Mike's flesh lost. With a horrible tearing sound, deep furrows opened in the flesh of his calf as he was torn free of the Zombie, smashing into the corresponding storm gutter. He grabbed the gutter and lowered himself as far as he could manage, then let go and flopped the last few feet to the ground.
The zombie snarled and leaped after him, landing in an entirely ungraceful fashion that shattered its leg. It howled and grasped for him, just... out... of reach.
Well, that made them even. Somehow, Mike managed to get onto his hands and knees and crawl away laboriously and painfully.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
FM was busy looting the Pub and the surrounding area. The barman's shotgun would come in handy, assuming he could find some fucking shells.
Then Mike staggered through the doorway, somehow upright. He leaned heavily on a table, and managed a pain-filled laugh. "Now, dad." He stuttered, imitating the dreaded call-home, "I'm not sayin' I wrecked the car, but I need a lift home."
"What the fuck?" he said, putting the shotgun down on the bar. "You said you weren't going to get in fucking trouble, you dumb shit."
"Yelling later, first aid kit now." Groaned Mike, flopping into a chair.
He grabbed Mike's shirt and bodily hoisted him onto the table, pulling another one over to support his legs. "You're bleeding like a stuck fucking hog," he said, pulling out his knife.
"Yeah, probably some muscle damage too." He said dreamily. "The left leg's worse, I torniqued' the right one."
He was already running the knife up the pants leg, cutting it away. "I'm not a doctor," he pointed out.
"Physician, heal thyself." Mike replied. "I fucked up in the first place." He looked very pale, eyes dilated but still clear as he forced himself into a sitting position. "First aid kit." He repeated.
He grabbed the kit, pulling it open. "Okay, got it."
"White tube" pronounced t-you-b, "left partition. Antiseptic gel." Mike instructed, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself in the present.
He grabbed the tube, popping the top and slathering a handful onto his hand. "This is going to hurt like fuck," he said, grabbing a dirty rag from another table. "Bite on this."
Mike bit down on the rag, and focused on trying to discern what it was he was tasting. Anything to take his mind off the pain.
Soap and bartop grime mixed in a merry cocktail in his mouth as FM roughly slathered the antibacterial goop on his leg in a fashion that indeed hurt like fuck.
Mike bit right through the rag and indeed his tongue, the soap and grime joined by blood as a small 'fsssssssssssss', like gas under pressure, escaped his mouth. Jesus FUCK that hurt.
"Sorry," he said unapologetically as he finished. "Now what? Stitch it up?"
"Thought I'd take a holiday." Mike replied, spitting the rag out and fumbling for the tools. "Not just Brighton or Milton Keynes, either." He threaded the needle. "Somewhere like BermudaAAAargh." His babble devolved into a muffled yell as he passed the needle through the cuts.
The rag was roughly shoved back into his mouth. "This is going to be ugly," FM informed him.
Mike looked at him as if to say "Oh really? I never would have guessed." And proceeded to stitch himself up.
FM watched, somewhat impressed with the ballsiness of a man stitching up his own wounds.
Well, needs must, right? The pain was incredible. Mike had broken his leg once, but that was Nothing compared to the sensations he was now experiencing. Each stroke was made one thousand times worse with the knowledge that he was doing it, the precise information relayed from his brain to his legs as to when the needle was going to strike. He bit through the rag again and ground his teeth together, anything to keep his mind. Off. The. Pain!
Finally, he found that he'd finished. He spat the rag out again and collapsed sideways, rocking the table.
FM lifted his head, holding a bottle of scotch. "Here, get a drink."
Mike grabbed the bottle and inhaled greedily, most of the liquid going down his throat. The rest ran down his chin and the bottle, seeming to burst into flames as it hit the cuts on his hands.
"Ouch." He said finally.
FM noticed the abrasions on his hand. "Let me get those," he said, grabbing the antibacterial goop and slathering some more on his hands.
Mike let the man work, and eventually fetched the gauze from the FAK and bound his legs tightly, looping a bit under each ankle for support. He started to shake.
"Thanks." He said. "You can, ah, you can start the name-calling now." He flopped back down to the table.
He tossed a blanket over the other man, shaking his head. "So what happened, you stupid fuck?"
"I cut myself shaving, of course." Mike shot back. "Those safety blades aren't all they're cracked up to be. What does it look like? I got my ass kicked all over the city."
"How does the other guy look?" he asked, finishing off the scotch that Mike hadn't gulped down.
"Broken arm and leg." Mike said, vaguely proud. "A bit of a skin condition, too. Green and flakey."
"Good job," he said. "Next time try not to get fucking chopped up when you do it. You're the doctor."
"I wasn't looking for a fight." Mike said defensively. "He wouldn't have gotten me if I wasn't distracted."
"So don't get distracted," he said coldly. "You don't get a lot of second chances with this shit."
Mike laughed suddenly, and slightly hysterically. "Actually, that's what distracted me." He reached for his waist and unclipped the Extractor, shakily handing it to the man. "Do those figures mean anything to you? They mean a lot to me."
He shrugged. "No."
"Well, I know what's happening now. Vaguely." He retrieved the device and attached it to his belt again, the hysterical giggles starting once more. "And it turns out- You'll love this- It turns out that it's kinda my fault." He shook with silent laughter.
"How?" the other man asked, suddenly very intent.
"Well, not me specifically. The people I work for." Mike explained, haltingly and interspersed with bouts of hysteria, about the 'miracle cure', the Zombies, and the test results.
"It's like a B-movie." He giggled. "We tried to play God, etcetera, etcetera."
FM smacked him upside the head. "Get your shit together."
Mike rolled onto his side with the blow, and cupped his hands around his mouth until he stopped hyperventilating.
FM waited him out. "Better now?"
He nodded, glasses tumbling from his face. "Better."
"Good," was his simple reply. "So what are we dealing with here?"
Mike shrugged. "I can only guess. This isn't the same strain we were using in the labs. But I'd say we're all passively infected, probably by the water supply." He seemed to calm down as he let the analytical side of his mind take over. "We were aiming to treat major tissue damage, though, so I don't know what it'd take to put one of these things down. Probably incineration."
"Burn the bodies, they stay down," he said, boiling it down to simple, functional terms.
"Not just burn; Cremate." Mike corrected. "Acid might work too. I don't know if a limb would grow back or something, but I think so. We were aiming to treat some really nasty stuff."
"You mean we have to totally destroy the body? What the fuck were you people thinking?"
"'We' got drunk one night and thought, "Hey, why don't we make a Zombie plague?" I told you, 'we' wanted to cure death. Grow limbs back. Repair broken spines. A nice little slide-back sunroof. The whole works."
"And you let it get into the water supply," he shot back accusingly.
"Yeah, I emptied a little bag of it down the loo last week. Jesus, I'm just a freaking night shift worker." Mike snarled, obviously feeling that hit a little too close to home.
He didn't answer, going over to collect the shotgun and finish loading it.
Mike's head thudded back against the table. The blood loss and shock were catching up to him.
He racked the shotgun, loading it, then flicked the safety on. "So, what are you gonna do about it?"
Mike exhaled slowly. "Get more data. More facts. Get in touch with someone who knows what they're doing. Tell them."
"Okay," he said simply.
"Are you trying to give me a spasm?" ~The Necrontyr Messenger
-
Pcm979
- Adept
- Posts: 1306
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 5:22 am
- 21
- Location: Command Deck, the UMSC Pillar of Awesome.
#29
He crept along the line of derelict cars. People still occasionally attempted to drive places. They usually died for the effort. The survivors were learning quickly that any motion to attract the zombies was death. Across the street, a zombie stood motionless. He'd seen this before, watched as they'd just frozen like statues in the street. Zimmerman theorized that it was a rest period. But he was wary all the same, because he'd also seen a pigeon land on one, and get snatched with amazing speed.
He paused. This was the tricky part- there was no coverage the last few meters to the wrecked fire engine. He tensed his knuckles on the axe and took a deep breath, then crouch-walked toward the unit, eyes darting back and forth between his objective and the resting zombie.
He made it. Climbing up into the unit, he ignored the bloodstains and scattered gore. It was an all-too-familiar sight at this point. He reached up to check the radio, praying there was something left in the batteries.
The dial turned. The needle twitched. He had a radio.
He checked the unit number quickly, then picked up the handset. "Unit 598, need to talk to somebody upstairs, over."
Static answered him.
"Unit 598 to anybody who's reading," he said.
C'mon, somebody. Anybody.
"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" the radio bellowed. "It's the end of the world as we know it, and I'm feeling fine!"
He looked over, spotting the zombie as it started to move. He pressed the transmit key. "Thanks a lot, you cocksucker! If I ever meet you, I'm going to stick my bloody boot in your eye!"
He didn't hang around for a reply, bailing out the opposite side of the unit and hitting the street running.
Something had caught in his hand as he jumped, a cloth that unwound from behind the seat. He kept it in hand unthinkingly as he ran. The zombie was shuffling along behind him, moving slowly.
Red hot anger burst within him. Screw this. He released the cloth, turning to brandish his axe. "C'mon, you bastard. Let's go."
=======================
He staggered through the door, axe dragging behind him, scarf wound around his neck. "Hey Frank, could use a hand here."
Zimmerman rushed to his side, taking one of his arms. Petro grunted. "Whoa!" he said, pulling back. "Other fucking arm, if you don't mind," When he pulled his arm away, a large bloodstain was evident along his side.
"You said you were going to avoid contact!" Zimmerman said.
"Yeah, well, contact didn't fucking avoid me. But I got the bastard." He staggered over to the bed and gingerly laid down, hand still clasped around the axe. "Looks like you're going to get some more stitch practice."
Zimmerman was already grabbing a pair of scissors. "Green or gold thread?"
"Green. Lucky color," Petro said. "Remember that gin we stumbled across?"
"Yes. We're using it to sterilize the wound."
"C'mon doc, just a sip."
Zimmerman began cutting away the shirt. "Fine. A sip."
He paused. This was the tricky part- there was no coverage the last few meters to the wrecked fire engine. He tensed his knuckles on the axe and took a deep breath, then crouch-walked toward the unit, eyes darting back and forth between his objective and the resting zombie.
He made it. Climbing up into the unit, he ignored the bloodstains and scattered gore. It was an all-too-familiar sight at this point. He reached up to check the radio, praying there was something left in the batteries.
The dial turned. The needle twitched. He had a radio.
He checked the unit number quickly, then picked up the handset. "Unit 598, need to talk to somebody upstairs, over."
Static answered him.
"Unit 598 to anybody who's reading," he said.
C'mon, somebody. Anybody.
"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" the radio bellowed. "It's the end of the world as we know it, and I'm feeling fine!"
He looked over, spotting the zombie as it started to move. He pressed the transmit key. "Thanks a lot, you cocksucker! If I ever meet you, I'm going to stick my bloody boot in your eye!"
He didn't hang around for a reply, bailing out the opposite side of the unit and hitting the street running.
Something had caught in his hand as he jumped, a cloth that unwound from behind the seat. He kept it in hand unthinkingly as he ran. The zombie was shuffling along behind him, moving slowly.
Red hot anger burst within him. Screw this. He released the cloth, turning to brandish his axe. "C'mon, you bastard. Let's go."
=======================
He staggered through the door, axe dragging behind him, scarf wound around his neck. "Hey Frank, could use a hand here."
Zimmerman rushed to his side, taking one of his arms. Petro grunted. "Whoa!" he said, pulling back. "Other fucking arm, if you don't mind," When he pulled his arm away, a large bloodstain was evident along his side.
"You said you were going to avoid contact!" Zimmerman said.
"Yeah, well, contact didn't fucking avoid me. But I got the bastard." He staggered over to the bed and gingerly laid down, hand still clasped around the axe. "Looks like you're going to get some more stitch practice."
Zimmerman was already grabbing a pair of scissors. "Green or gold thread?"
"Green. Lucky color," Petro said. "Remember that gin we stumbled across?"
"Yes. We're using it to sterilize the wound."
"C'mon doc, just a sip."
Zimmerman began cutting away the shirt. "Fine. A sip."
"Are you trying to give me a spasm?" ~The Necrontyr Messenger
-
Pcm979
- Adept
- Posts: 1306
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 5:22 am
- 21
- Location: Command Deck, the UMSC Pillar of Awesome.
#30
A few days later, Mike could walk again. Not quickly and not well, but faster than the Shamblers, and that's what counted. Hobbling along the street, he whispered to FM: "They seem more active at night. I'm still trying to work out why."
He shrugged. "Beats the fuck out of me."
"'Kay." Mike leaned against a wall and pulled a grubby street map out of a pocket. "Another block, cut left, convenience store on Old Tweep Road. Hope it hasn't been looted yet."
"Probably has," FM said, ever the optimist.
"Even then, there's a Tescos at..." He fumbled with the map, adjusting his glasses. "Wirthing Downs, just a bit further on. Can't have polished that off yet." He said hopefully.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because it's huge. A whole block of warehouses. You'd need all of Malton to get through that in just a week." He started off again, leaning on an impromptu cane that used to be a chair leg.
"Maybe it'll work, then," he said doubtfully.
"FM stands for 'Frighteningly Morose', doesn't it?" Mike asked with annoying good cheer as they plodded along.
"Something like that, yeah. Better to be negative and be wrong," he pointed out.
"Maybe, maybe not." Mike said as they rounded the corner. "You know," He said after a pause, tapping his cane on the cobblestones, "I think it's catching. Now I'm worried because we haven't seen a Zombie so far."
"Good," he said. Better if the civvy was worried. That would keep him nervous. Nervous meant he'd be watching carefully.
Mike muttered something about 'a ray of sunshine' as they approached the store. Surprisingly, it hadn't been ransacked. It had, however, been boarded up very thoroughly. There was no way in.
"Hmm, they're starting to learn," he said.
"It won't last forever, you know." Mike said, tapping the boarded-up windows. "If I'm right and you can't put these things down for good without totally destroying them, they'll just keep coming. Keeping on the move, that's the key."
"Yeah," he said. "True."
"Wanna try it?" Mike said, gesturing to the roof. "Or hit the Tescos?"
He shrugged. "Won't hurt to look."
"Okay. Give me a leg up." Mike, despite his injuries, was the best candidate for climbing buildings. Mainly because there was no way he could support the other man's weight with his legs, but still.
He stirruped his hands. "Remember, if you see anything nasty in there, hobble really fast."
"Damnit," said Mike as he perched on the other man's hands and clambered onto the roof, "I was going to stare into the camera and scream until they cut away." He vanished from sight.
He leaned against the wall, waiting. His eyes constantly roamed, never resting.
A minute later there was a clatter and a curse, and Mike pulled a desk away from the door, allowing the other man to wriggle in. It was understandably dark, and Mike had removed his glasses to better acclimatize his eyes.
"Someone's made themselves at home." He whistled, gazing at the interior of the store. Shelves had been pulled over, rearranged and broken then rebuilt into different shapes, all with the intent of creating a clear firing zone towards the door, while allowing maximum maneuverability for the defender.
"Think they're still here?" he whispered.
Mike shrugged. "On the one hand, I'd stick around if I'd put this much work into a place. On the other, I just did my Keystone Cops impersonation getting to the door, and nobody's jumped us yet."
He looked around, noting the tripwires in the doorway and other nice little touches. "Whoever it is, it's a clever one."
Mike shuffled over to the check-out counter and exclaimed. "Aha! Here's where all the food went." The shelves had been emptied and their contents redistributed next to a makeshift blanket. "I'd say we've just broken and entered while the owner's at the shops." Mike mused.
"Actually," the voice said. "The owner was outside for a while. Then he wandered off." He stayed in cover, but the flash could be seen, a tall blond man, well muscled, his hands out of sight behind the doorframe.
Mike turned as quickly as he could, considering his condition.
FM had slid back out of sight, shotgun at ready. The man paused for a long moment. "Name's Steve Zed, Malton Metro fire service."
Mike's eyes darted to where FM should have been, then back to the man. "Freeman, Mike Freeman. Cube farmer." He said, steadying himself on his makeshift cane.
"And your friend with the shotgun?" Zed asked.
"Calls himself FM." Mike admitted. "U.S. Marines, and the reason I'm alive."
"Well, hard to trust a man who's hiding out, but..." Steve took a step out into the light. The fire axe shone in his hand. "Somebody's got to make the first move."
"He's just cautious. I think we all are, to still be alive." Mike said soothingly.
Steve nodded. "Well then, I'll step through the door, and we'll try not to kill each other..." he stepped carefully over the trip line, giving Mike plenty of time to retreat out of reach of his axe.
"Oh yes, my Kung-Fu skills are mighty." Mike muttered, swaying a little as his legs moaned in pain, but staying in place.
FM kept the shotgun slightly offline, where he could easily bring it back around. "You alone here?" he asked suspiciously. Steve nodded.
Mike sighed and leaned back against the counter. His feet were sore from walking on his improvised shoe, really no more than a block of wood strapped to his foot, and his legs were flaring up again. "You seem to be doing well for yourself." He noted. "Although, you're running low on water." He gestured behind himself.
Steve nodded, resting his axe against the wall. "Getting hard to come by. You two working by yourselves?"
"He does the work." Mike nodded at FM. "I'm the bumbling sidekick."
FM shrugged. Zed looked between them. "Mind if I came along?"
"Honoured." Mike said, sticking his hand out.
Steve took his hand, nodding.
He shrugged. "Beats the fuck out of me."
"'Kay." Mike leaned against a wall and pulled a grubby street map out of a pocket. "Another block, cut left, convenience store on Old Tweep Road. Hope it hasn't been looted yet."
"Probably has," FM said, ever the optimist.
"Even then, there's a Tescos at..." He fumbled with the map, adjusting his glasses. "Wirthing Downs, just a bit further on. Can't have polished that off yet." He said hopefully.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because it's huge. A whole block of warehouses. You'd need all of Malton to get through that in just a week." He started off again, leaning on an impromptu cane that used to be a chair leg.
"Maybe it'll work, then," he said doubtfully.
"FM stands for 'Frighteningly Morose', doesn't it?" Mike asked with annoying good cheer as they plodded along.
"Something like that, yeah. Better to be negative and be wrong," he pointed out.
"Maybe, maybe not." Mike said as they rounded the corner. "You know," He said after a pause, tapping his cane on the cobblestones, "I think it's catching. Now I'm worried because we haven't seen a Zombie so far."
"Good," he said. Better if the civvy was worried. That would keep him nervous. Nervous meant he'd be watching carefully.
Mike muttered something about 'a ray of sunshine' as they approached the store. Surprisingly, it hadn't been ransacked. It had, however, been boarded up very thoroughly. There was no way in.
"Hmm, they're starting to learn," he said.
"It won't last forever, you know." Mike said, tapping the boarded-up windows. "If I'm right and you can't put these things down for good without totally destroying them, they'll just keep coming. Keeping on the move, that's the key."
"Yeah," he said. "True."
"Wanna try it?" Mike said, gesturing to the roof. "Or hit the Tescos?"
He shrugged. "Won't hurt to look."
"Okay. Give me a leg up." Mike, despite his injuries, was the best candidate for climbing buildings. Mainly because there was no way he could support the other man's weight with his legs, but still.
He stirruped his hands. "Remember, if you see anything nasty in there, hobble really fast."
"Damnit," said Mike as he perched on the other man's hands and clambered onto the roof, "I was going to stare into the camera and scream until they cut away." He vanished from sight.
He leaned against the wall, waiting. His eyes constantly roamed, never resting.
A minute later there was a clatter and a curse, and Mike pulled a desk away from the door, allowing the other man to wriggle in. It was understandably dark, and Mike had removed his glasses to better acclimatize his eyes.
"Someone's made themselves at home." He whistled, gazing at the interior of the store. Shelves had been pulled over, rearranged and broken then rebuilt into different shapes, all with the intent of creating a clear firing zone towards the door, while allowing maximum maneuverability for the defender.
"Think they're still here?" he whispered.
Mike shrugged. "On the one hand, I'd stick around if I'd put this much work into a place. On the other, I just did my Keystone Cops impersonation getting to the door, and nobody's jumped us yet."
He looked around, noting the tripwires in the doorway and other nice little touches. "Whoever it is, it's a clever one."
Mike shuffled over to the check-out counter and exclaimed. "Aha! Here's where all the food went." The shelves had been emptied and their contents redistributed next to a makeshift blanket. "I'd say we've just broken and entered while the owner's at the shops." Mike mused.
"Actually," the voice said. "The owner was outside for a while. Then he wandered off." He stayed in cover, but the flash could be seen, a tall blond man, well muscled, his hands out of sight behind the doorframe.
Mike turned as quickly as he could, considering his condition.
FM had slid back out of sight, shotgun at ready. The man paused for a long moment. "Name's Steve Zed, Malton Metro fire service."
Mike's eyes darted to where FM should have been, then back to the man. "Freeman, Mike Freeman. Cube farmer." He said, steadying himself on his makeshift cane.
"And your friend with the shotgun?" Zed asked.
"Calls himself FM." Mike admitted. "U.S. Marines, and the reason I'm alive."
"Well, hard to trust a man who's hiding out, but..." Steve took a step out into the light. The fire axe shone in his hand. "Somebody's got to make the first move."
"He's just cautious. I think we all are, to still be alive." Mike said soothingly.
Steve nodded. "Well then, I'll step through the door, and we'll try not to kill each other..." he stepped carefully over the trip line, giving Mike plenty of time to retreat out of reach of his axe.
"Oh yes, my Kung-Fu skills are mighty." Mike muttered, swaying a little as his legs moaned in pain, but staying in place.
FM kept the shotgun slightly offline, where he could easily bring it back around. "You alone here?" he asked suspiciously. Steve nodded.
Mike sighed and leaned back against the counter. His feet were sore from walking on his improvised shoe, really no more than a block of wood strapped to his foot, and his legs were flaring up again. "You seem to be doing well for yourself." He noted. "Although, you're running low on water." He gestured behind himself.
Steve nodded, resting his axe against the wall. "Getting hard to come by. You two working by yourselves?"
"He does the work." Mike nodded at FM. "I'm the bumbling sidekick."
FM shrugged. Zed looked between them. "Mind if I came along?"
"Honoured." Mike said, sticking his hand out.
Steve took his hand, nodding.
"Are you trying to give me a spasm?" ~The Necrontyr Messenger
-
Pcm979
- Adept
- Posts: 1306
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 5:22 am
- 21
- Location: Command Deck, the UMSC Pillar of Awesome.
#31
The lacerations were fairly shallow, fortunately. They'd spent a week holed up, alternating between jovial banter and getting on each other's nerves.
"Where'd you learn this stuff?" Petro asked, as Zimmerman climbed down from the hole he'd knocked in the ceiling with the day's accumulation of rain water from his rooftop catcher.
"I've been predicting the end of civilization as we know it for years. I just didn’t... expect it to happen in this fashion."
"Survival nut?" Petro said tactlessly. Zimmerman turned a frosty eye toward him.
"Considering that I turned out to be right," he said, pouring the water into one of their stock of empty bottles. "Who's the nut?"
Petro shrugged. "Got me there."
Zimmerman placed the bottle with the others. They were still ahead on water, with their careful rationing, but the objective was to stay well ahead. "So," he said. "College? You don't seem like the college type."
"Means to an end," Petro said. "Never got a degree, but I meandered through some engineering and chemistry courses- professional interest. Got some history in too."
Zimmerman looked at him for a long moment. Petro grinned. "Okay, there was a lot of liquor and female companionship involved, too. So where did you learn to be a survival nut?"
"On the internet. Where else?" Zimmerman said, cracking a grin. "That's where I got my doctorate."
"You're a doctor? No shit. I'm cooped up with an internet doctor?"
There was a slamming sound at the front entrance, distinctive and unmistakable. Zimmerman started grabbing the bottles and repacking them. "Ready to move?"
"Just watch me."
========================
"It's the middle of July. What do you need a scarf for?"
"It's a memento," Petro whispered back. "Let me get some of that," he offered. Zimmerman was staggering along, red-faced, under the load of gear they'd accumulated. His own load was much lighter, though every step sent small spasms of pain through his side.
"And let you rupture that beautiful suture job I did? No... no... I'll be fine."
========================
Steve and FM carefully crept along the alley, schoolbags full of canned food slung over their shoulders.
Suddenly, a scrabbling figure loped into view ahead of them, clearly intent on something out of their sight. It was a Zombie, running.
“Shit.” FM snarled, raising his shotgun. “The Doc said they might get faster.”
Steve hefted his axe. “It’s going after someone else.”
“Looks like we’re the fuckin’ cavalry again.” Grunted the Marine, jogging after the Zombie.
========================
The fast-moving footsteps were easily audible.
"Zombies don't move that fast," Zimmerman whispered.
All the same, Petro turned, lifting his axe.
=========================
Too slowly. The Zombie slammed into him, launching him into the wall. Petro slammed into the brick heavily, his head snapping back brutally. The Zombie turned to Zimmerman, who was pulling his flare gun out, and tackled him. Zimmerman fired the gun, blowback scorching him painfully. The Zombie leaned forward, extending its fangs to rip Zimmerman’s throat out.
Petro lunged at the Zombie, axe sheared through its ankle, chopping off its foot.
There was a sickening stench of cooked meat. When the zombie turned to face him, Petro could see the still-burning flare fizzling out in the zombie's stomach.
He lifted his axe, preparing to deliver a coupe de grace to the zombie, but a sudden wave of pain from his side doubled him over. Liquid warmth poured along his ribs. His damned wounds had reopened.
The zombie lurched to its feet... foot... and began staggering toward him. He pivoted and jammed the axe handle into its teeth, shattering tooth and jaw, grotesquely denting its face.
They staggered around each other like a pair of drunks.
"Go," he urged Zimmerman, then again louder. "Run, you fucking idiot!" He pulled his head back and narrowly missed getting his face to slashed to ribbons by a claw-strike.
No need for both of them to die here. He watched the next sweeping rake of the claws come in, and met it with the edge of his axe, eliciting a blood-curdling howl. Zimmerman was slowly getting up. Petro reversed his motion and laid the axe into the zombie's side, only to have it get lodged there. He danced back, relinquishing his grip on the axe handle. He was weakening, wearing down.
The bastard was going to kill him. He backpedaled as he drew the sheath knife he'd scrounged up from his hip.
Zimmerman was pulling out his own knife, the stupid bastard.
======================
“I don’t have a shot.” Growled FM as the survivor went berzerk on the Zombie.
“I’m going in.” Steve warned, hefting his axe and preparing to charge.
======================
Something snapped in Petro’s mind. With a howl, he lunged at the Zombie, plunging the knife into its chest. The sudden charge combined with the impairment of the monster’s missing foot was sufficient to topple them both. The axe handle torqued under Petro’s weight, tearing the blade free. It was sandwiched between them as Petro snarled and stabbed the Zombie repeatedly.
The Zombie backhanded Petro, knocking him away, then rose unsteadily to its feet. Petro lay huddled on the ground, shuddering.
The Zombie lurched forward, when suddenly, Petro rolled, revealing the axe in his hands, and slashed deeply into the beast’s knee. It fell.
=========================
“Not too shabby.” FM marveled, lowering the shotgun.
“They still need our help.” Steve replied, walking towards the pair.
=========================
Zimmerman helped him to his feet. Before them lay the zombie, which was flopping around feebly, trying to get up again.
"Alright..." Petro gasped. "Let's finish this."
He hefted the axe and struck home with a scream, a scream that sent all his pain and anger into one golden release.
----------------------------
"Quick, c'mon, move. You can't stay exposed out here."
The men were helping both of them, guiding them toward the back entrance of a pub.
Petro glanced at the man helping Zimmerman along. He blinked once, twice. "Zee?"
The other man looked back at him, surprise dawning on his face. "Petro?"
"Where'd you learn this stuff?" Petro asked, as Zimmerman climbed down from the hole he'd knocked in the ceiling with the day's accumulation of rain water from his rooftop catcher.
"I've been predicting the end of civilization as we know it for years. I just didn’t... expect it to happen in this fashion."
"Survival nut?" Petro said tactlessly. Zimmerman turned a frosty eye toward him.
"Considering that I turned out to be right," he said, pouring the water into one of their stock of empty bottles. "Who's the nut?"
Petro shrugged. "Got me there."
Zimmerman placed the bottle with the others. They were still ahead on water, with their careful rationing, but the objective was to stay well ahead. "So," he said. "College? You don't seem like the college type."
"Means to an end," Petro said. "Never got a degree, but I meandered through some engineering and chemistry courses- professional interest. Got some history in too."
Zimmerman looked at him for a long moment. Petro grinned. "Okay, there was a lot of liquor and female companionship involved, too. So where did you learn to be a survival nut?"
"On the internet. Where else?" Zimmerman said, cracking a grin. "That's where I got my doctorate."
"You're a doctor? No shit. I'm cooped up with an internet doctor?"
There was a slamming sound at the front entrance, distinctive and unmistakable. Zimmerman started grabbing the bottles and repacking them. "Ready to move?"
"Just watch me."
========================
"It's the middle of July. What do you need a scarf for?"
"It's a memento," Petro whispered back. "Let me get some of that," he offered. Zimmerman was staggering along, red-faced, under the load of gear they'd accumulated. His own load was much lighter, though every step sent small spasms of pain through his side.
"And let you rupture that beautiful suture job I did? No... no... I'll be fine."
========================
Steve and FM carefully crept along the alley, schoolbags full of canned food slung over their shoulders.
Suddenly, a scrabbling figure loped into view ahead of them, clearly intent on something out of their sight. It was a Zombie, running.
“Shit.” FM snarled, raising his shotgun. “The Doc said they might get faster.”
Steve hefted his axe. “It’s going after someone else.”
“Looks like we’re the fuckin’ cavalry again.” Grunted the Marine, jogging after the Zombie.
========================
The fast-moving footsteps were easily audible.
"Zombies don't move that fast," Zimmerman whispered.
All the same, Petro turned, lifting his axe.
=========================
Too slowly. The Zombie slammed into him, launching him into the wall. Petro slammed into the brick heavily, his head snapping back brutally. The Zombie turned to Zimmerman, who was pulling his flare gun out, and tackled him. Zimmerman fired the gun, blowback scorching him painfully. The Zombie leaned forward, extending its fangs to rip Zimmerman’s throat out.
Petro lunged at the Zombie, axe sheared through its ankle, chopping off its foot.
There was a sickening stench of cooked meat. When the zombie turned to face him, Petro could see the still-burning flare fizzling out in the zombie's stomach.
He lifted his axe, preparing to deliver a coupe de grace to the zombie, but a sudden wave of pain from his side doubled him over. Liquid warmth poured along his ribs. His damned wounds had reopened.
The zombie lurched to its feet... foot... and began staggering toward him. He pivoted and jammed the axe handle into its teeth, shattering tooth and jaw, grotesquely denting its face.
They staggered around each other like a pair of drunks.
"Go," he urged Zimmerman, then again louder. "Run, you fucking idiot!" He pulled his head back and narrowly missed getting his face to slashed to ribbons by a claw-strike.
No need for both of them to die here. He watched the next sweeping rake of the claws come in, and met it with the edge of his axe, eliciting a blood-curdling howl. Zimmerman was slowly getting up. Petro reversed his motion and laid the axe into the zombie's side, only to have it get lodged there. He danced back, relinquishing his grip on the axe handle. He was weakening, wearing down.
The bastard was going to kill him. He backpedaled as he drew the sheath knife he'd scrounged up from his hip.
Zimmerman was pulling out his own knife, the stupid bastard.
======================
“I don’t have a shot.” Growled FM as the survivor went berzerk on the Zombie.
“I’m going in.” Steve warned, hefting his axe and preparing to charge.
======================
Something snapped in Petro’s mind. With a howl, he lunged at the Zombie, plunging the knife into its chest. The sudden charge combined with the impairment of the monster’s missing foot was sufficient to topple them both. The axe handle torqued under Petro’s weight, tearing the blade free. It was sandwiched between them as Petro snarled and stabbed the Zombie repeatedly.
The Zombie backhanded Petro, knocking him away, then rose unsteadily to its feet. Petro lay huddled on the ground, shuddering.
The Zombie lurched forward, when suddenly, Petro rolled, revealing the axe in his hands, and slashed deeply into the beast’s knee. It fell.
=========================
“Not too shabby.” FM marveled, lowering the shotgun.
“They still need our help.” Steve replied, walking towards the pair.
=========================
Zimmerman helped him to his feet. Before them lay the zombie, which was flopping around feebly, trying to get up again.
"Alright..." Petro gasped. "Let's finish this."
He hefted the axe and struck home with a scream, a scream that sent all his pain and anger into one golden release.
----------------------------
"Quick, c'mon, move. You can't stay exposed out here."
The men were helping both of them, guiding them toward the back entrance of a pub.
Petro glanced at the man helping Zimmerman along. He blinked once, twice. "Zee?"
The other man looked back at him, surprise dawning on his face. "Petro?"
"Are you trying to give me a spasm?" ~The Necrontyr Messenger
-
Pcm979
- Adept
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#32
"You know these guys?" FM grunted, supporting the older man.
"The redhead," Steve said. "We worked in the same station for a while." Petro grunted something like an assent.
"You'll vouch for him?" Pressed the Marine.
Zed looked over at Petro. "He's a fucking nutcase."
"Fuck you, Zee."
"But he's one of the best in the business."
"Fuck you, Zee."
"He'll fit right in." Concluded FM as they neared the pub. "Doc's home." He added, spying Mike's red tie poking through one of the boarded-up windows. A prearranged signal.
They bustled through the doors. Zimmerman looked over at Petro. "He's ruptured his stitches. We need to get him sewed back up."
"Then he's in luck." FM propped Zimmerman against a wall and rapped on the boarded-up door. "Doc! We've got a couple of strays for ya."
"Do tell." Came Mike's muffled voice as he hobbled towards the door. "I was starting to feel useless in here." He pulled the door open carefully and ushered them in.
"You've got an actual doctor?" Zimmerman inquired.
"Well," Began Mike, reflexively preparing to downplay his own credentials, but FM interrupted. "Yeah. Help us get him on the table, will you?" He helped Steve drag Petro over to their impromptu operating table.
Petro cooperated as much as he could with the process. As they plopped him down, he lifted his head and looked at Mike. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"I see you found a smart one." Mike commented to FM and Steve, sitting down hard and pulling the First Aid Kit towards him. "No sir, I'm not. What gave it away?" He knew full well, but kept up the patient-doctor banter as he pulled Petro's shirt open and inspected the wound.
A mess of torn stitches and from a series of reopened wounds ran across his stomach and lower chest. Ugly, painful, but not life-threatening. "Because if you were a local, you'd sound more like him," he said, pointing at FM with a grin. "So, am I gonna live, doc? And where... Ow, fuck... Where's the nurse? Tell me there's a hot blond nurse."
"Steve? You have any Nurse's training?" Mike asked jokingly. "Right, this is going to hurt, sir." He said, and removed the torn stitches quickly.
"YEAH! GREAT! Where's my FUCKING NURSE!" he growled as Mike yanked the stitches out with brutal efficiency. During a lull, he sagged back against the table. "Tell me there's some booze in here. That fucking asshole," he pointed at Zimmerman. "Always hordes the booze for medicinal purposes... if this isn't a FUCKING MEDICINAL PURPOSE," he growled as Mike started again. "I don't know WHAT IS."
"We're in a pub, sir. I'm sure we can find some alcohol somewhere." Mike replied, starting to pull the stitches out around the syllable 'some'.
"I'll see," Steve said, having finished looking over Frank and determining that he was a bit battered but otherwise functional. "Scotch, right?" Petro nodded, grimacing as Mike played with his wounds.
Mike finished plucking the stitches out and snapped his fingers at FM, who handed him the almost-empty bottle of antiseptic.
"I'm sure you know the drill, sir." Mike said, and squeezed it on.
He threw his head back and made gurgling noses as he gripped the edges of the table. When it was done, he looked back up. "All too well. I damn well expect... dinner... a show... and a blowjob... after all this."
"We'll start with the hot blond nurse, sir." Mike said, motioning to Steve as he returned with the Scotch.
"You already know my answer," Steve said as he passed the bottle over.
"I see some things don't ever change," he commented wryly, gesturing toward the wounds.
"Oh fuck you, you god damned Viking pussy," Petro muttered back, snagging the bottle. He took a long drink. "Good to see you're still around."
"Likewise," Steve answered.
"If you need to clench something between your teeth, now's the time, sir." Mike warned, preparing the stitches and needles.
"Steve... Your cock... Now." Petro said. Steve laughed out loud, then handed him a rubber stress ball he'd found behind the bar. Petro put it in his mouth and closed his eyes.
Mike stitched him up quickly and efficiently.
His white-knuckled grip on the table along with vociferous repressed screams behind the improvised ball gag served to indicate Petro's feelings on the procedure. Zimmerman took a drink from a bottle of water. "That's the quietest he's been since I met him," he noted.
"Maybe we should leave the gag in." FM postulated as Mike finished and taped some gauze over the wounds.
Petro spat the ball out. "Fuck. Every. Last. One of you," he gasped. "Excepting the good doctor here, who is good enough to glue me back together... "
"Freeman, sir. Mike Freeman." Mike handed Petro the Scotch again. "I think you've earned it." He added.
He took a big slug of the scotch. "I think so too," he agreed. "So, what's the word, Steve? We have any fucking C&C left in town?"
Steve shook his head, sitting on a nearby table. "Total breakdown. We're on our own out here."
"That's what I thought..."
While Petro and Steve caught up, Mike turned his chair to Zimmerman, revealing his heavily-bandaged legs. "That looks like a bad burn, sir. We've got some cream..."
"That would be nice," Zimmerman said. "Thank you." It came out strangely, as if the man wasn't terribly accustomed to social graces or thanking people.
"Catch." Mike fished around in the First Aid Kit for the cream and threw it to Zimmerman.
He intercepted the cream and began applying it. Steve and Petro were talking in the background. "Nobody left?" Petro was saying. "The whole fucking brigade gone?" Steve shook his head. "We've mostly ended up going solo, seems like."
"Rescue services got hit the hardest." Said FM. "When it turned out they needed the fuckin' rescuing."
Zimmerman coughed suddenly. Petro glared at him. "Oh shut the fuck up. Okay, I heard that the military's got the town sealed off, total blockade. Are they talking to us at all? Or just shooting anybody who tries to get out?"
"A bit of both." FM said. "Don't panic, we're workin' on it, and so forth. They tried organizing something a few days back, but now they're shooting on sight."
"So for the moment we're on our own," Petro said, leaning back.
"Yeah." FM said, and lapsed into silence.
There was a sudden rapping on the door. "Hey, anybody in here?"
"The redhead," Steve said. "We worked in the same station for a while." Petro grunted something like an assent.
"You'll vouch for him?" Pressed the Marine.
Zed looked over at Petro. "He's a fucking nutcase."
"Fuck you, Zee."
"But he's one of the best in the business."
"Fuck you, Zee."
"He'll fit right in." Concluded FM as they neared the pub. "Doc's home." He added, spying Mike's red tie poking through one of the boarded-up windows. A prearranged signal.
They bustled through the doors. Zimmerman looked over at Petro. "He's ruptured his stitches. We need to get him sewed back up."
"Then he's in luck." FM propped Zimmerman against a wall and rapped on the boarded-up door. "Doc! We've got a couple of strays for ya."
"Do tell." Came Mike's muffled voice as he hobbled towards the door. "I was starting to feel useless in here." He pulled the door open carefully and ushered them in.
"You've got an actual doctor?" Zimmerman inquired.
"Well," Began Mike, reflexively preparing to downplay his own credentials, but FM interrupted. "Yeah. Help us get him on the table, will you?" He helped Steve drag Petro over to their impromptu operating table.
Petro cooperated as much as he could with the process. As they plopped him down, he lifted his head and looked at Mike. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"I see you found a smart one." Mike commented to FM and Steve, sitting down hard and pulling the First Aid Kit towards him. "No sir, I'm not. What gave it away?" He knew full well, but kept up the patient-doctor banter as he pulled Petro's shirt open and inspected the wound.
A mess of torn stitches and from a series of reopened wounds ran across his stomach and lower chest. Ugly, painful, but not life-threatening. "Because if you were a local, you'd sound more like him," he said, pointing at FM with a grin. "So, am I gonna live, doc? And where... Ow, fuck... Where's the nurse? Tell me there's a hot blond nurse."
"Steve? You have any Nurse's training?" Mike asked jokingly. "Right, this is going to hurt, sir." He said, and removed the torn stitches quickly.
"YEAH! GREAT! Where's my FUCKING NURSE!" he growled as Mike yanked the stitches out with brutal efficiency. During a lull, he sagged back against the table. "Tell me there's some booze in here. That fucking asshole," he pointed at Zimmerman. "Always hordes the booze for medicinal purposes... if this isn't a FUCKING MEDICINAL PURPOSE," he growled as Mike started again. "I don't know WHAT IS."
"We're in a pub, sir. I'm sure we can find some alcohol somewhere." Mike replied, starting to pull the stitches out around the syllable 'some'.
"I'll see," Steve said, having finished looking over Frank and determining that he was a bit battered but otherwise functional. "Scotch, right?" Petro nodded, grimacing as Mike played with his wounds.
Mike finished plucking the stitches out and snapped his fingers at FM, who handed him the almost-empty bottle of antiseptic.
"I'm sure you know the drill, sir." Mike said, and squeezed it on.
He threw his head back and made gurgling noses as he gripped the edges of the table. When it was done, he looked back up. "All too well. I damn well expect... dinner... a show... and a blowjob... after all this."
"We'll start with the hot blond nurse, sir." Mike said, motioning to Steve as he returned with the Scotch.
"You already know my answer," Steve said as he passed the bottle over.
"I see some things don't ever change," he commented wryly, gesturing toward the wounds.
"Oh fuck you, you god damned Viking pussy," Petro muttered back, snagging the bottle. He took a long drink. "Good to see you're still around."
"Likewise," Steve answered.
"If you need to clench something between your teeth, now's the time, sir." Mike warned, preparing the stitches and needles.
"Steve... Your cock... Now." Petro said. Steve laughed out loud, then handed him a rubber stress ball he'd found behind the bar. Petro put it in his mouth and closed his eyes.
Mike stitched him up quickly and efficiently.
His white-knuckled grip on the table along with vociferous repressed screams behind the improvised ball gag served to indicate Petro's feelings on the procedure. Zimmerman took a drink from a bottle of water. "That's the quietest he's been since I met him," he noted.
"Maybe we should leave the gag in." FM postulated as Mike finished and taped some gauze over the wounds.
Petro spat the ball out. "Fuck. Every. Last. One of you," he gasped. "Excepting the good doctor here, who is good enough to glue me back together... "
"Freeman, sir. Mike Freeman." Mike handed Petro the Scotch again. "I think you've earned it." He added.
He took a big slug of the scotch. "I think so too," he agreed. "So, what's the word, Steve? We have any fucking C&C left in town?"
Steve shook his head, sitting on a nearby table. "Total breakdown. We're on our own out here."
"That's what I thought..."
While Petro and Steve caught up, Mike turned his chair to Zimmerman, revealing his heavily-bandaged legs. "That looks like a bad burn, sir. We've got some cream..."
"That would be nice," Zimmerman said. "Thank you." It came out strangely, as if the man wasn't terribly accustomed to social graces or thanking people.
"Catch." Mike fished around in the First Aid Kit for the cream and threw it to Zimmerman.
He intercepted the cream and began applying it. Steve and Petro were talking in the background. "Nobody left?" Petro was saying. "The whole fucking brigade gone?" Steve shook his head. "We've mostly ended up going solo, seems like."
"Rescue services got hit the hardest." Said FM. "When it turned out they needed the fuckin' rescuing."
Zimmerman coughed suddenly. Petro glared at him. "Oh shut the fuck up. Okay, I heard that the military's got the town sealed off, total blockade. Are they talking to us at all? Or just shooting anybody who tries to get out?"
"A bit of both." FM said. "Don't panic, we're workin' on it, and so forth. They tried organizing something a few days back, but now they're shooting on sight."
"So for the moment we're on our own," Petro said, leaning back.
"Yeah." FM said, and lapsed into silence.
There was a sudden rapping on the door. "Hey, anybody in here?"
Last edited by Pcm979 on Sat Oct 29, 2005 8:44 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Are you trying to give me a spasm?" ~The Necrontyr Messenger
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Dark Silver
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#33
Punt knocked on the door again, louder this time, "Hey, anybody home god damn it!"
Silver stood back, rifle held in such a way as he could bring it into play quickly if nessacry. Behind him a Necrotech named Chase Cooke and two civilians waited.
Over the last week, they had eventually found one another, starting with Punt and Silver. They realiezed the value of having others around, and formed a loose unit, Silver and Punt sharing the unofficial leader duties.
Silver shook his head as Punt knocked again, and stepped up, and the sound of a fist impacting on the heavy wooden door resounded, the man's voice coming over,"This is Malton PD, let us in or we'll break the door down"
Silver stood back, rifle held in such a way as he could bring it into play quickly if nessacry. Behind him a Necrotech named Chase Cooke and two civilians waited.
Over the last week, they had eventually found one another, starting with Punt and Silver. They realiezed the value of having others around, and formed a loose unit, Silver and Punt sharing the unofficial leader duties.
Silver shook his head as Punt knocked again, and stepped up, and the sound of a fist impacting on the heavy wooden door resounded, the man's voice coming over,"This is Malton PD, let us in or we'll break the door down"
Allen Thibodaux | Archmagus | Supervillain | Transfan | Trekker | Warsie |
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
-
Josh
- Resident of the Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
- Posts: 8114
- Joined: Mon Jun 06, 2005 4:51 pm
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- Location: Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
#34
Petro laughed out loud at that. "Cheese it, it's the fucking cops!"
Steve looked at FM, before stepping cautiously to the door. The Marine covered him as he opened it.
Steve looked at FM, before stepping cautiously to the door. The Marine covered him as he opened it.
When the Frog God smiles, arm yourself.
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
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Dark Silver
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#36
Silver and Punt both stood side by side at the door, Silver's rifle, a automatic Smith and Wesson, held half point at the ground, and Punt with his pistol just drawn.
No use in being ready to shoot whoever opened the door, maybe just talking would get them a night or two's safe resting spot. Strength in numbers and all.
The door jangled for a moment, just after he heard faint voices. Apparently they were coming to open the door.
Silver shook his head when it opened, no mirth in it. He looked haunted almost, "Sure....I'll run you guys in once we finish with the batch of flesheaters down at central...you have room for five more?"
No use in being ready to shoot whoever opened the door, maybe just talking would get them a night or two's safe resting spot. Strength in numbers and all.
The door jangled for a moment, just after he heard faint voices. Apparently they were coming to open the door.
Silver shook his head when it opened, no mirth in it. He looked haunted almost, "Sure....I'll run you guys in once we finish with the batch of flesheaters down at central...you have room for five more?"
Last edited by Dark Silver on Sat Oct 29, 2005 6:08 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Allen Thibodaux | Archmagus | Supervillain | Transfan | Trekker | Warsie |
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
-
Josh
- Resident of the Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
- Posts: 8114
- Joined: Mon Jun 06, 2005 4:51 pm
- 21
- Location: Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
#37
Petro, half-stonkered on booze and adrenaline, cheerfully called out. "The more the merrier! Get your asses inside before you get eaten!"
When the Frog God smiles, arm yourself.
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
-
Dark Silver
- Omnipotent Overlord
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- Joined: Wed Jun 08, 2005 12:15 pm
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- Contact:
#38
Silver almost blinked when he heard the voice from inside, but motioned the group in. He watched the streets, making sure no shamblers were about, before moving in himself.
He looked over the group that just let them in, until his eyes fell on the half drunk man....
His jaw nearly dropped, as his arms went down, setting the rifle down on a table that wasn't overturned just yet....
He couldn't beleive it...but then again, a week ago he didn't beleive in the dead coming back to life either.
"Petro?"
He looked over the group that just let them in, until his eyes fell on the half drunk man....
His jaw nearly dropped, as his arms went down, setting the rifle down on a table that wasn't overturned just yet....
He couldn't beleive it...but then again, a week ago he didn't beleive in the dead coming back to life either.
"Petro?"
Allen Thibodaux | Archmagus | Supervillain | Transfan | Trekker | Warsie |
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
-
Josh
- Resident of the Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
- Posts: 8114
- Joined: Mon Jun 06, 2005 4:51 pm
- 21
- Location: Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
#39
"Well fuck, if it isn't just old home week," he cheerfully said, offering the bottle. "Here, have a drink buddy. Everyone, this is Darek Silver, the asshole who pulled me out of a couple of gutters that I disgraced with my presence."
When the Frog God smiles, arm yourself.
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
-
Dark Silver
- Omnipotent Overlord
- Posts: 5484
- Joined: Wed Jun 08, 2005 12:15 pm
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- Contact:
#40
"No more of a asshole than you" Silver retorted as he closed in on Petro, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig back. The first taste of alcohol in over a week, and figures it would be with Petro.
Silver passed the bottle on pack to Punt as he reached out and grasped ahold of Petro, hugging the man to him.
"I didn't think you fucking made it...I hadn't heard from you in a week before this shit...and now...you fucking appear"
Silver passed the bottle on pack to Punt as he reached out and grasped ahold of Petro, hugging the man to him.
"I didn't think you fucking made it...I hadn't heard from you in a week before this shit...and now...you fucking appear"
Allen Thibodaux | Archmagus | Supervillain | Transfan | Trekker | Warsie |
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
-
Josh
- Resident of the Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
- Posts: 8114
- Joined: Mon Jun 06, 2005 4:51 pm
- 21
- Location: Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
#42
He made all manner of squawking 'OH FUCK' noises as the other man hugged him, heedless of his rather hamburgered and recently-restitched torso. When Darek finally let him go, he managed a feeble pat on the shoulder.
"Good to see you too. Darek... give me the fucking bottle," he concluded weakly.
"Good to see you too. Darek... give me the fucking bottle," he concluded weakly.
Last edited by Josh on Sat Oct 29, 2005 6:31 pm, edited 1 time in total.
When the Frog God smiles, arm yourself.
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
-
Dark Silver
- Omnipotent Overlord
- Posts: 5484
- Joined: Wed Jun 08, 2005 12:15 pm
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- Contact:
#43
Silver twitched his head towards Petro as Punt asked, "Sure do...used to goto school with the bastard, back when I was getting my Criminal Law degree. Pulled his dumb ass outta few bad spots before the fuck up....took him into my home. Man's like a brother to me."
He clasped Petro's shoulder, looking him in the eye, "I'm really glad you made it out...I tried getting to your apartment after.....Silver's eyes began to water, "We got sidetracked into a museum..running from a buncha them....."
He clasped Petro's shoulder, looking him in the eye, "I'm really glad you made it out...I tried getting to your apartment after.....Silver's eyes began to water, "We got sidetracked into a museum..running from a buncha them....."
Allen Thibodaux | Archmagus | Supervillain | Transfan | Trekker | Warsie |
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
-
Josh
- Resident of the Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
- Posts: 8114
- Joined: Mon Jun 06, 2005 4:51 pm
- 21
- Location: Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
#45
"I never made it back. Had a little wreck on the way," he said, running a finger over the still-healing wound on his face. "Frank there..." he jerked his head toward Frank. "Frank Zimmerman... pulled my ass out of a bad spot."
"Which I take it is a customary thing for him," Zimmerman observed.
Petro took another slug from the bottle. "How are Jamie and..." he trailed off when he saw the look in Silver's eyes. "Ah fuck... no..."
"Which I take it is a customary thing for him," Zimmerman observed.
Petro took another slug from the bottle. "How are Jamie and..." he trailed off when he saw the look in Silver's eyes. "Ah fuck... no..."
When the Frog God smiles, arm yourself.
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
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Dark Silver
- Omnipotent Overlord
- Posts: 5484
- Joined: Wed Jun 08, 2005 12:15 pm
- 21
- Contact:
#46
Silver swallowed, nodding. His face took on a hard look, but the emotion never left his eyes.
"We were running in the meuseum, trying to get away...Jamie fell behind....one of them jumped her.. I killed it, and when i looked back...she was cracking open his skull..."
The man's eyes closed for a moment, as he involentarily squeezed on Petro's shoulder, "I took her down after...."
"Took me half a week before I finally hooked up with Punt" he motioned over towards Punt, "all he ever said his name was. Used to work for on the fire-brigade, like you. He kept me from throwing myself overboard...."
"We were running in the meuseum, trying to get away...Jamie fell behind....one of them jumped her.. I killed it, and when i looked back...she was cracking open his skull..."
The man's eyes closed for a moment, as he involentarily squeezed on Petro's shoulder, "I took her down after...."
"Took me half a week before I finally hooked up with Punt" he motioned over towards Punt, "all he ever said his name was. Used to work for on the fire-brigade, like you. He kept me from throwing myself overboard...."
Allen Thibodaux | Archmagus | Supervillain | Transfan | Trekker | Warsie |
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
"Then again, Detective....how often have you dreamed of hearing your father's voice once more? Of feeling your mother's touch?" - Ra's Al Ghul
"According to the Bible, IHVH created the Universe in six days....he obviously didn't know what he was doing." - Darek Steele bani Order of Hermes.
DS's Golden Rule: I am not a bigot, I hate everyone equally. | corollary: Some are more equal than others.
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Josh
- Resident of the Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
- Posts: 8114
- Joined: Mon Jun 06, 2005 4:51 pm
- 21
- Location: Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
#47
He nodded, squeezing Silver's shoulder. It was easier because he didn't have anybody to lose, really. Darek's family had been the closest thing he had to family in town. He closed his eyes, then opened them. "Let's get this place blocked up so they can't get in, brother, then we can start figuring out what the fuck to do about these fucking rotters."
When the Frog God smiles, arm yourself.
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
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Pcm979
- Adept
- Posts: 1306
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 5:22 am
- 21
- Location: Command Deck, the UMSC Pillar of Awesome.
#48
A week later, supplies were running low.
"Okay." FM laid the map out on the pub table and pointed.
"We're five blocks, give or take, from St. Lazar's Hospital. We get in, the Doc shows us what we need, and we get the fuck out again."
Mike shifted uncomfortably.
"I'm just gonna weigh you guys down, especially now the Zombies are running." His stitches had come out a few days ago, but he still couldn't move faster than a brisk walk.
"Okay." FM laid the map out on the pub table and pointed.
"We're five blocks, give or take, from St. Lazar's Hospital. We get in, the Doc shows us what we need, and we get the fuck out again."
Mike shifted uncomfortably.
"I'm just gonna weigh you guys down, especially now the Zombies are running." His stitches had come out a few days ago, but he still couldn't move faster than a brisk walk.
"Are you trying to give me a spasm?" ~The Necrontyr Messenger
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Josh
- Resident of the Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
- Posts: 8114
- Joined: Mon Jun 06, 2005 4:51 pm
- 21
- Location: Kingdom of Eternal Cockjobbery
#49
"So I'll limp along with ya, doc," Petro said. "Silver and his friends are going to hit the Piegsa Place PD for arms and ammo. We stick to the shadows, drop anything that moves in on us, load up, then come back, all triumphant and cheery."
When the Frog God smiles, arm yourself.
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
"'Flammable' and 'inflammable' have the same meaning! This language is insane!"
GIVE ME COFFEE AND I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE!- Frigid
"Ork 'as no automatic code o' survival. 'is partic'lar distinction from all udda livin' gits is tha necessity ta act inna face o' alternatives by means o' dakka."
I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain
-
Pcm979
- Adept
- Posts: 1306
- Joined: Fri Jun 24, 2005 5:22 am
- 21
- Location: Command Deck, the UMSC Pillar of Awesome.
#50
They reached the hospital without much incident, apart from a few close calls.
"Okay." Mike said, panting slightly as he brought up the rear. "We best avoid the A&E, 'cause that's where most people die. And then come back."
"Okay." Mike said, panting slightly as he brought up the rear. "We best avoid the A&E, 'cause that's where most people die. And then come back."
"Are you trying to give me a spasm?" ~The Necrontyr Messenger